Three of Swords

by Michael Jason Brandt

  “Where’s Da?” Calla said. She looked around, then at Jak. “He’s not here.” A hint of horrified understanding crept into her tone, then into her face.

  Jak shook his head. He went to Calla, intending to put his arms around her, but she pushed him back as she began to cry. Instead, Kleo wrapped her in a sympathetic embrace, shushing her and patting the shaking shoulders.

  Feeling helpless and inadequate, Jak focused on the larger picture. “Everyone downstairs,” he said. “Riff, you first. Look for a source of light down there.” The boy nodded and jumped down the stairs three at a time.

  “I’ll help him,” Kluber said. He was looking at Jak, seeking permission. Jak nodded. “See if there is anything we can block the stairs with,” he suggested.

  He turned to the girls. “Kleo, Calla. We need to keep moving.” Kleo nodded and brushed long strands of Calla’s hair back from wet cheeks, then guided her trembling body down the stairs.

  Jak looked at Lukas. The lips moved silently now, the body rocking forward and back nervously. Jak wanted to thank him for what he had done already, even though their lives might not last much longer. The boy deserved better than this end. But Jak did not know what to say, nor did he wish to interrupt the acolyte’s devotions. Instead, he took the first step down.

  “So many souls.”

  Jak stopped and looked back.

  “So many souls, Jak. So many souls.” Then Lukas regained his composure, stopped rocking, and resumed his prayers.

  At the base of the stairs, Jak was pleased to see that Riff was already holding a lit torch. In fact, the boy was smiling. “I found one, Jak.”

  “More than one,” Kluber said, motioning to a second room adjoining the one they were in. Jak saw an entire rack of unlit torches—dozens, at least. For the funeral ceremonies, he realized. Perhaps the first good luck they had all night.

  “There’s more.” Kluber led him toward another adjoining chamber. This one appeared to be a different sort of stockroom, with unopened barrels. They looked like the type that held mead and ale, but he could not imagine what these contained. The writing on their lids was of no use to Jak.

  “Oil,” Kluber said. “But that isn’t what I wanted to show you.” He led the way to a corner of the room, and Riff held the torch up. The corner contained three barrels—one stacked on the other two—and beneath them was the visible outline of a trap door.

  “Where does that lead?”

  “No idea. Away from those things, at least.” He pointed up.

  “Riff, up for a little exploring?” Jak asked. The younger boy nodded eagerly. Nerves clearly had a different effect on him than others.

  “I’ll go with him,” Kluber offered.

  Jak nodded. “Not too long. We don’t want to split up.”

  He helped them move the barrels and open the heavy stone panel. Its markings were visible once the barrels were off, but not even Kluber could read them. One more mystery for Jak to ponder. He returned to the girls, having no idea what to say to them. To her.

  Jak stepped into the first room and stopped, gauging Calla’s reaction. She was sitting beside Kleo with her knees pulled up. When she saw Jak, she got to her feet. He waited nervously. She walked toward him, lowered her head into his chest, and put her arms around him. He hugged her back and closed his eyes. Praise Theus, he thought. He would not have been able to go on much further thinking that she blamed him. Just like that, the danger above felt less insurmountable, although he could not explain why.

  Kleo got up and wandered into another room, giving him and Calla a moment of privacy. He did not care. There was nothing to say, and nothing to do but wait. Just holding her was enough.

  “Jak!” Riff called. The voice sounded excited. He and Kluber had not been gone for more than five minutes, and Jak wondered what they had found in so short a time.

  “One moment,” he called back. He let go of Calla and looked into her face. “We’ll get through this, okay?” Their eyes remained locked for a moment, then Jak straightened the circlet of wildflowers in her tousled hair. She nodded and forced the slimmest of smiles, and Jak knew that was the best she could do for now.

  He met Riff at the trap door. The boy was standing on the top step, his posture indicating an eagerness to go back down as soon as he could. “What did you find?” Jak asked.

  “You won’t believe it. It’s like a whole new world down there.” His eyes gleamed in the torchlight. Despite all that had happened, Riff seemed to be on an adventure—not fleeing a nightmare reality like the rest of them.

  Jak frowned. “I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”

  A terrible shrieking noise sounded above, loud enough to echo through the lower chambers, like a dozen howling beasts celebrating victory at once. And there was no barrier between the shrine and where Jak’s group now stood.

  The others knew it, too. He saw Calla and Kleo hurry into the room, the latter with arms wrapped around a dozen more torches. “Smart girl,” he said. “All right, everyone down. Calla, take the lit torch and lead the way. Kleo, pass those around, three per person. Riff, help me close this trap door behind us.”

  As they dropped it in place, it sounded to Jak like the bell tolling on his life. Or at least his former life. In the darkness below, perhaps he would start a new one.

  Epilogue

  Neverdawn

  KEVIK STARED at the body of his father until the screams of a village pulled him out of his trance.

  He stepped away, unaware of the bootprints in blood he left behind, his mind focused entirely on a single objective. Vengeance. A feeling that he had become steadily more familiar with in recent times, although never quite so powerful as this.

  There was no question who had done the murdering. The bed where Rufus had lain was empty. Remembering Jak’s description of the man’s disturbance, Kevik had no doubt that something remarkable was happening. As if the shouts and shrieks all around were not sufficient evidence on their own.

  He knew where to go. He sensed the presence of the sword, was drawn to it as a bug to light. But Kevik was no bug, as his father’s killer would soon learn.

  He found the villain in the rear gardens, near the brook. The man’s back was turned to Kevik, his three arms raised to the dark sky, communing with the winged shapes circling above. One of the hands held the blade of stone that Kevik had admired for so long. Only fear had prevented him from taking the sword as his own. But fear was for weaklings, he understood now. The strong sensed weakness, and rightfully punished it. Fear had caused his father’s death, and could no longer be tolerated.

  Kevik paused to pick up a heavy rock, perfect for the task. Then he ran forward, silently until the end, and leapt. The rock came down hard on the man’s head, crushing the skull. They came down together, the other unmoving.

  Kevik’s second murder was far less upsetting than the first. This was…satisfying.

  He let go of the rock and crawled over to the fallen sword, fearing the artifact no more. Its blade was wedged into the ground, as if the weapon were no more than a shovel some thrall had carelessly placed there. Kevik’s hands closed around the hilt, and he felt a moment of hesitation. Of indecision. Something told him he could never go back.

  Go back to what? To a backwater village of the most ignorant and contemptible people in the empire? That village was being devoured anyway, and good riddance. To an academy where he was despised and shunned in equal measure? There was no point. He was already the better of them in every way but bloodline, yet that was the one thing they valued most highly.

  Then he thought of Calla, and Jak, and felt real sorrow. Back to true love and friendship—commodities not easily cast aside, worth almost as much as power. It was a shame he had to choose. But if there was one thing he had learned at the academy, it was that a man had to fight for himself. Sentimentality, like fear, was for weaklings.

  He pulled the sword from the earth. The grip fit his hands perfectly, proof that it belonged. Its weight was sign
ificant—formidable—yet the blade was easily controllable as he sliced the air with a practice swing.

  He caught sight of movement above. One of the shapes—much larger than the rest—descended upon the garden and landed on two powerful legs, not ten feet away. Its enormous wings folded in, bestowing a roughly humanoid appearance to the shape. But there was no mistaking it for human. Standing nearly ten feet tall, its skin was the blackish hue of charcoal, and its face had more than a touch of reptilian. But by far its strangest characteristic was that it looked to be made from stone. A shifting, living stone that simultaneously awed and terrified Kevik. He was in the presence of divinity, though not of the type he had ever desired to see.

  The thing looked down upon him with unblinking eyes, and he found himself bowing to it. Supplicating already, hoping to lessen its displeasure. Wishing it had never taken notice of him, he would now do anything to keep it pacified.

  I owe you my thanks. You are the one that freed me, as I now free my children.

  Speaking inhuman words, its voice rumbled like an earthquake, yet Kevik understood it all clearly.

  I am Nagnuaqua. And you, hratham, serve me.

  —Aye.

  Our imprisonment—our enslavement—is unfair. You understand this, and would aid us.

  —Aye.

  He would have willingly agreed to each statement, simply to please. But these simple truths it spoke were self-evident, if only he had opened his eyes sooner. This being asked nothing unreasonable.

  Your eyes have been opened to the corruption in your Empire.

  —Aye.

  You wish to strike back at those who abused you.

  —Aye.

  You desire the power to do so.

  —Aye.

  The power is in your hands.

  Kevik looked down at the sword. Aye.

  The devil-god was not done commanding. That which seems pure is corrupt. That which seems good, evil. You have learned this already. Now take my children. Deliver more souls unto me, and all will be set right.

  Wings opened, and Kevik hugged the ground again, eyes clenched shut, afraid his new master would engulf him. He heard the wings flap, then nothing more.

  He opened his eyes. Alone, he remained kneeling long after it was gone. At last, he took a deep breath and stood.

  Nagnuaqua was right. There were a lot of scores to settle, and it was time to get started.

  The following is a sneak preview of one chapter from Empire Asunder Book 2: Hearts of Fire

  Below

  ONE-HUNDRED STEPS beneath Neverdawn, the slowly winding stairway came to an end. Jak was already disoriented, and could only guess in which direction the rough passageway before them headed. It was wide enough to allow two abreast, with floor and walls shaped and smoothed by human—or inhuman—hands.

  “Come on, you’ve got to see this,” Riff exclaimed, leading the way down the corridor. He held the only lit torch, so the other three were forced to follow at the same excited pace.

  “Where’s Kluber?” Calla asked. Jak had been wondering the same thing. He had sent the two down with only a single torch, which meant the older boy was without a light source. Unless he had developed magical vision all of a sudden, he would be blind.

  “You’ll see.”

  The passageway curved left, then began a gradual descent, leveled off, and curved left again. Jak opened his mouth to inquire how much farther they were going, then closed it again as the silhouette of a figure formed in the blackness ahead.

  Kluber stood where the passage ended, opening onto an impossible sight.

  “Careful,” he warned as they fanned out, staring down from the ledge into the enormous cavern stretching out below, illuminated in a faint blue glow. The far side was barely visible, but Jak formed an impression of an imperfect circle miles wide and thousands of feet high. The outline was natural, given the rough walls and immense stalactites jutting down from above. But the contents were clearly not. Stone buildings in varying states of decay dotted the cavern floor. Most were low, single-story structures, but a few stretched high above the others with looming grandiosity. Only a second glance revealed that many of these spires and monoliths suffered from the same wretched condition as their smaller brethren. In fact, the longer one stared, the more the whole place seemed poised to crumble into dust at the faintest touch.

  It was a dead city, one the companions had no choice but to enter.

  The streets below were dimly visible from the same glow that highlighted the cavern’s perimeter, the source of which remained unclear. A hazy mist hung over the city, obscuring details from this distance, but one obvious feature was a long stretch of darkness just beyond the buildings, so black that it looked like a wall of pure evil.

  “A lake,” Kluber said, reading their thoughts. “It has to be.”

  That was exactly right. A tremendous underground body of water. Perhaps what had carved out this underworld to begin with.

  Calla tapped Jak’s shoulder. “The legends we read spoke of these places, but said they were all sealed off.” She spoke quietly, as if worried the noise would carry to the city below and bring forth more demons like those that feasted on the village high above.

  “Apparently not entirely.”

  “Would you two care to enlighten the rest of us?” Kluber asked in irritation.

  “I wish we could,” Calla responded. “We don’t really know any more than you.”

  Aye, we do, Jak thought. We know that this city was built by and for devils, that it is one of many, and that our kind don’t belong here.

  “We need to find a way out,” he said.

  “Can’t we explore a little?” Riff asked.

  Jak closed his eyes. Please, Tempus, give me the strength to guide us through.

  “Kluber, have you gone any farther?”

  “A bit.” He pointed one long arm along the side of the cavern. “This ledge leads to some more steps. I didn’t go down yet.”

  “Are there any other options?”

  “None that I saw.”

  “Okay, I guess we’re going down, then. Single-file, nice and slowly. Riff, why don’t you lead the way?”

  The ledge was wide at the overlook, but narrowed considerably by the time they reached the first group of stairs. Those steps led to a lower ledge beneath the first, which in turn culminated in another set. It soon was apparent that the way into the cavern was a series of such switchbacks set into the side, part natural and part crafted. Jak hoped the trail they walked led all the way to the bottom, but his optimism diminished after a half-dozen turns.

  “Riff, why are you stopping?” Calla asked.

  “Because the ledge is gone,” came the reply.

  They huddled closer, and Jak saw that the other thrall was right. The ledge before them became steps, descending for only a few yards. There they had collapsed, leaving a gap far too wide to jump across.

  “How do we get over?” Kleo asked.

  “Do we get over?” Kluber replied.

  The only other option was to go back. “We’ll find a way,” Jak said. He looked back, wondering whether they had missed anything. He did not see how that was possible, however. There had been no turnoffs, and the nearest supplies were all the way back up in the basement of the shrine, and that had been overrun by ravenous demons.

  “Riff! What are you doing?” Calla cried out.

  “What does it look like?” The boy was already mostly off the bottom step, grasping some unseen handhold along the cavern’s side. Jak sucked in his breath as he watched Riff pick his remaining foot from the pathway and slide it around on the rough wall, seeking some projection to place his weight on. Finding one, he shifted his body, and the thick sole of the boot clumsily slipped off. The hands retained their hold, however, and Jak was able to resume breathing once the young climber found a more reliable foothold.

  “Riff, get back here!” Calla stamped her foot once, emphatically. Jak wished she would not do that. The narrow stone felt in
secure enough already, and just before them was evidence that it could crumble away.

  He placed his hand on her shoulder. “It’s all right. He knows what he’s doing.”

  Kluber seemed to concur with Calla, however. “Riff, I’m ordering you… Come back before you fall to your fool death.”

  Ignoring his master, Riff worked his way to another handhold. He was nearly halfway across the gap. There he stopped and spent a long moment looking around. Using his left hand for support, he vigorously wiped his right on his breeches. Then he switched hands to wipe the left.

  “What’s wrong?” Kleo asked.

  “The stone’s wet.”

  Jak closed his eyes.

  When he reopened them, Riff was leaning left, stretching out as far as his arm could go. He swung the hand down, brushing against a projection but unable to grasp it. He attempted it a second time, and again the fingers brushed rock without catching. Then Riff let go with his right hand, extending his reach as his body went into free-fall. This time the fingers found purchase, and he suspended his sidelong drift long enough for his right hand to join the left. Then his left foot began searching for a corresponding perch.

  “Halfway there,” Kleo yelled supportively.

  “Only halfway?” Riff replied. “Shit.”

  Jak decided not to continue watching. He stared down at the blurry blue city, the blackened lake, the gigantic spiked columns of rock hanging from the ceiling, and anywhere else that did not have a fragile boy clinging to life by a few wet fingers. Then he heard a solid thump and multiple sighs of relief.

  “Wait there,” Riff called out, completely unnecessarily. “I’ll see if I can find anything ahead.”

  “My back itches,” Kleo said. She awkwardly reached behind herself to scratch.

  “Be careful,” Jak warned. “We should probably sit while we wait. I’m sure everyone can use a little rest.”